


a cordial invitation

by Thornofthelily



Series: akeshuake fairy tales [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Banter, Consensual Blood Drinking, M/M, Sensuality, Vague World Building, fae!akira, faerie and vampire magic shenanigans, shut up I just like writing fae akira okay, vampire!goro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornofthelily/pseuds/Thornofthelily
Summary: The game they play, once a year, when Akira can disguise himself in the human world, and when Goro deigns return to the city that turned him, all to play with the only person with whom they can match wits. The game: who will break first. Who will violate the complex laws that rule their kind. Who will be victorious. The fae, who holds power over anyone who abuses their hospitality? Or the vampire, who holds power over anyone who invites them into their domain?
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: akeshuake fairy tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981270
Comments: 16
Kudos: 157





	a cordial invitation

Akira dips his quill in the inkwell and pens the letter with the absurdly formal flourish he knows the recipient will hate. The invitation is hardly necessary by this point, but Akira still prefers to do things the proper way; besides, it’s all part of their elaborate game. A dance Akira looks forward to more than the Midsummer celebrations under the hill, more than the Samhain tithes. A once-a-year indulgence to play a game of etiquette with the only creature ever proven his equal.

He ties the note to the leg of a crow- yet another jab his correspondee will not miss- and sends it off into the night. He knows it will find its way to the intended target. Akira has always had a certain way with crows.

At the appointed day and hour, Akira dons the necessary glamour to return to the human world. Today, glasses and a scruffed-up hair style will suffice, along with a white shirt with rolled up sleeves and slacks. Despite the layers of magic shielding his aura, Akira still wrinkles his nose at the gruesome smog, the poisonous iron in their transports and buildings. He quickly weaves his way through the back alleys until he finds his destination, a quiet respite that housed him for the year and a day he was banished from court: the cafe Leblanc.

He lets himself into the establishment, startling the proprietor, Sojiro. He blinks at Akira in confusion, then breaks out into a warm smile, the magic already working over him. “You’re back already? You could’ve sent me a heads up, you know.”

Akira smiles magnanimously. Normally, yes, the rules would dictate a proper calling card, request, formal invitation, something of the like. But, with Leblanc being both a business and Akira’s former home, the rules allowed him some leeway. Besides, on the day he departed, Sojiro told him that Akira was “always welcome here.” Technically, he could abuse that rule and enter the building whenever he wanted, open or close, locked or unlocked. Even if the ownership changed hands, if the permission never gets formally revoked, nothing could bar his entry. But Akira liked Sojiro. He played fair with him, mostly. “Sorry,” Akira finally answers, inhaling the warm chocolate richness of coffee and the tickly sharp sting of spice. “Thought it would be a fun surprise.”

Sojiro huffs good-naturedly, setting down the newspaper he’d barely been reading and ambles over to the coffee station. “Can I get you something, then?”

Akira sits at the bar and runs his fingertips along the wood. Even his glamour-dull senses pick up the love and care Sojiro poured into the counter, into the whole building. The court tends to prefer sweets and wine to coffee and curry, but Akira had quickly adapted to the stuff. He always had unusual tastes. “Something dark,” Akira muses, thinking of the evening ahead. “And gloomy.”

The vague directions are all Sojiro needs to begin his work. All fae love good artwork, whether that be the leannan sidhe haunting tormented artists, the brownies helping cobblers making fine shoes, or even redcaps admiring a murderer’s knifework. For Akira and his odd tastes, Sojiro’s coffee-making is an art of its own. The fact Sojiro shared his art with him, without asking anything in return, is enough to keep Akira respectful while under his watch. Most of his tricks are saved for his _guest._

Ah, and it’s about time, isn’t it?

Akira glances to the front door just as the clock strikes 20:00. Already, the familiar silhouette casts a shadow across the foyer. Sojiro follows his gaze as he hands over the steaming fresh cup. “You expecting company?”

“I was hoping to meet up with someone here, yeah,” Akira replies, making himself sound extra hopeful. He was expecting him, although he never had a guarantee he would appear. He could have refused. Except he _never_ refuses.

“Come on in,” Sojiro calls when the shadow darkens his doorstep a moment too long, then a hesitant bell rings and Akira smirks.

Goro Akechi, the second-coming of the Detective Prince, still dressed in a crisp button-down and tie, although no longer a high schooler and certainly no longer a prince, enters Leblanc with a guarded expression and refusal to meet Akira’s hungry eyes, though he plants himself directly next to him.

Sojiro eyes the two of them, smirking. “Can I get you anything?” Goro’s eyes dart to Akira’s drink, then to Sojiro, before shaking his head. Sojiro signs in annoyance, but his lips still curl up just a bit.

“Well, it’s closing time anyway, boys. I can see you have a lot to catch up on. Feel free to use the place as long as you need to. Lock up when you’re done, kid, and don’t break anything.” Ha, Sojiro still thinks he has a key? Well, he can always pick the lock closed later. A few minutes puttering around, putting away his apron, fetching his hat, and with a final wave, Sojiro leaves them behind.

Akira turns in his barstool to face Goro, now openly snarling at the opposite wall. The fae sips his coffee and smiles. “You didn’t need to wait for Sojiro’s permission to enter, you know.”

“You don’t own the place, you can’t invite me in.” He snaps back, still refusing to meet Akira’s glittering silver eyes.

“I lived here for a year, and Sojiro gives me run of the place, as you can see. Besides, it’s a public business. The rules are flexible.”

“Maybe for _you._ But not me.”

Akira erupts into laughter. That’s maybe the first time anyone has ever called the sidhe court rules _flexible._ “It would have been easy for you to test, though, right? Vampires physically can’t enter a home without an invitation. Surely my letter must have been thoroughly inviting.”

Goro’s lip curls so far up Akira sees a careless flash of fang. He shivers in delight. “ _Excessively_ so. Must you write like Bram Stoker reincarnated?”

“Why, does the theme not appeal to you?”

“You know it doesn’t.”

“Oh, that was not my intention.”

“Liar.”

Akira smirks over the rim of the coffee mug. Clever wordplay; his intention was to _not_ appeal to him, but Goro seems to think he meant his intention _was_ to please him. Adorable. “Goro, how could you. You know we fae cannot lie. Frankly, I’m shocked you would accuse me of such.”

Goro rolls his eyes. “I don’t remember giving you permission to call me by my first name, either. Looks like we both broke a rule.” Still, he’s smiling just as devilishly at Akira.

The game they play, once a year, when Akira can disguise himself in the human world, and when Goro deigns return to the city that turned him, all to play with the only person with whom they can match wits. The game: who will break first. Who will violate the complex laws that rule their kind. Who will be victorious. The fae, who holds power over anyone who abuses their hospitality? Or the vampire, who holds power over anyone who invites them into their domain?

“I only call you Goro because, well, you really don’t want me to ask for your name. Trust me. Besides, who’s say what is a rule, and what determines what or who truly broke it, in letter or spirit?”

“That’s what I mean when I say your laws are too flexible. Mine, at least, are clear and unambiguous.”

“Like how, since I invited you into my home, you should have the ability to hypnotize me, overwhelm me, seduce me?” Akira bats his long, elegant eyelashes at Goro to apparently minimal effect. He’s seen that move too often.

“Again, this isn’t your home anymore. And I know you want me to snap so you can finally declare victory. It’s not going to happen.”

Akira giggles with delight. Goro has the best grasp of court etiquette he’s ever seen in a non-fae. He knows he is an honored guest to be treated with utmost respect… until the guest breeches the code of hospitality and acts in violence or some other grievous faux pas, in which case Akira is free to do as he pleases with the cur. Vampires are rare among the folk, and they usually avoid each other, so Goro must have studied on his own to keep up with Akira. He’s actually honored.

Akira slips off the barstool and moves behind the counter, intent on refilling his cup. But first – “Goro, may I get you something to drink?” He leans forward over the counter, intentionally stretching out his neck so Goro cam see the thready pulsing vein just under his skin. Goro keeps his eyes fixed respectfully on Akira.

“No, thank you. I’m not sure any of the refreshments here will sit well on my stomach.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, carefully scooping out more beans and tipping them into the grinder. “Sojiro said I have the technique down perfectly, although of course I still lack the _spirit_ of it, whatever that means. Artists, am I right?”

Goro huffs and folds his arms over his chest. He catches the restless twitch in his gloved fingers against his biceps, curling and uncurling as the scent of dark, freshly ground beans fills the eatery. “No, thank you,” he repeats, staccato, mechanical.

Akira places the grounds into the filter, pours the hot water over it, carefully watches the bloom. “I think there’s a Kona blend in here, too; Sojiro doesn’t even put it on the menu, to keep his stock in reserve. Only the regulars know about it. Don’t you want to try some of the best beans on Earth?”

Resolve weakening, eyes fixed in hunger or desperation on Akira’s careful, practiced gestures as he finishes his last pour with a flourish. He offers the mug to Goro. A third offer. A third refusal, and Akira will actually relent. Another of the old laws. Goro’s throat tightens. Warmth sparks in Akira’s chest. Except… maybe there’s something else he can offer, instead.

“No,” Goro’s voice comes out choked. “Thank you,” he barely remembers to add.

Akira refills his own mug, drinking without breaking eye contact, caffeine poison leaving his skin tingling. “How rude of me,” Akira murmurs, “I didn’t offer you anything to eat, either.” He presents a delicate, pale wrist, palm up, towards Goro. “I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t offer you at least this.”

A tongue darts between Goro’s lips, serpent-quick. He probably didn’t even realize he did it. “You never offered me food before,” he whispers. “That means you’ve _always_ been a terrible guest.”

“The situation never called for it,” he coos back. “First, we met at Inokashira park. Outdoors, public, no obligations to feed or take care of you. Then we meet up at the ramen shop in Inaba. Public pace, neither of us had a connection there. I _did_ offer to buy you a beef bowl, but you thrice refused me. That was all that was required.” He lists off half a dozen other meetings, letting his glamour slip just a bit and his charm warm his voice, explaining the rules and expectations and obligations in unnecessary detail. “But here, in this place? It’s like my home. I have every intention of making sure my guests are suitably cared for. And I _do_ care for you, Goro.” He catches Goro’s eyes above his glasses, letting the full gray weight of them wash over him. Goro seems to have stopped breathing. That’s fine; he hasn’t needed to breathe for years, now.

He nudges his wrist closer, almost touching. But he can’t touch, not yet. “I’m offering my dear guest a meal. Will you refuse me once again?”

He snatches Akira’s wrist and before even Akira’s clever eyes can follow, he’s behind the counter with him, crowding him against the shelves of beans and blends, forcing Akira to suck in a sharp breath as Goro’s aura rolls over him. Blood and violence and prickly sharp edges, normally distasteful for a fae that loves everything beauty and art, but well, Akira has always had odd taste. And Goro is his own work of art.

“You made a mistake,” Goro murmurs against his throat. He feels the prick of magic against his glamour, the predatory seduction natural to Goro’s kin. An overwhelming presence to calm his prey, lull them into a trance, keep them from escaping as he feeds. It’s not quite enough to pierce through Akira’s natural defenses against such charms, but he almost wishes they were.

“Where did I make a mistake?” Akira teases back, tilting his head back to fully sees Goro’s face. Since when did he grow taller…? They used to be the same height. “How do you know this isn’t exactly what I wanted?”

But Goro doesn’t answer, instead holding Akira’s wrist to his lips, under his nose, scenting him with long, slow inhales. “I’m a guest, in your house,” Goro’s voice caresses the sensitive skin of Akira’s pulse point. His tongue darts across his lips again, so close to Akira, now. “With a fae offering himself to me.” He nuzzles the length of Akira’s arm, cheeks and nose and eyelashes ghosting down his forearm until his lips land in the crook of Akira’s elbow, and there he licks once, wet flicker of tongue. Akira jumps at the contact.

Goro’s lips press warm and damp into his pulse, and Akira’s heart hammers, as though his blood is called to Goro’s magnetism. “I can smell it, you know,” his voice thrums up Akira’s nerves.

“My blood? I’d expect nothing less.”

“No. Your magic.” A sharp fang teases his skin, longer and pointier than Akira had imagined. “I’ve only eaten from humans, and animals, when times were tough. Nothing like you. You sing so powerfully in my head. It’s like you want me to devour you.”

“I did invite you to feed,” Akira says. He wants to touch Goro. Wants to stroke his hands through his hair, feel the cold heat radiate from his back, the hardened plane of muscles under his skin. But despite his own flaring arousal, this is still just a meal. Goro may… be taking liberties, here, with his closeness, but it’s likely part of his feeding process. Instincts to immobilize, trap, ensnare his prey. Besides, no one would fault him for wanting to indulge in some carnal pleasure. Fae also enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. And Akira did invite this sort of contact, and certainly doesn’t dislike it.

Goro growls, and the fang presses in harder, not quite nicking the surface, but enough to draw a sharp breath from Akira. “Not just now. I mean _always._ Your magic calls to me like nothing else. Are all fae like this?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he has to answer, instead of what he wants to say, which is _I hope you never find out, I want to be the only fae that’s special to you._

Goro noses under Akira’s chin, pressing his lips against his drumming heartbeat. Is this a kiss, or an appetizer? Akira’s not sure which he prefers. “You really mean it?” Despite his closeness and sharp senses, Akira can barely hear him, his voice nearly as quiet as the dead.

“Of course, Goro.” He chances resting a hand on the back of his head. Not petting, not stroking, just a practical place to rest his hand for this intimate position. “Drink what you need.”

His stuttered sigh barely tingles his nape before two fangs plunge through his skin. Akira expects it to hurt. Instead, pleasure bursts behind his eyelids and his knees buckle as Goro catches him, anticipating this. Goro’s fangs breech not only his flesh and muscle and veins, but through his glamour, and it shatters around him in an instant, the glasses fading and his messy hair curing back into its wild mossy mane. He moans Goro’s name and then falls silent, like a wall snaps between his soul and his brain, severing him from his body in everything but sensation.

The fangs don’t stay in. A misconception he’d held himself until this very moment, but Goro’s fangs aren’t needles. He does not drink from them. After penetrating Akira, he clamps his lips in a vice around the wound, alternating sucking and licking. Akira’s body clings to Goro, held upright in an iron grip – ironic phrasing, that. His whole body aches in delight, as though Goro had penetrated somewhere more delicate and sensitive than just the skin of his neck. Every nerve burns against Goro’s cold grip, yet Akira is paralyzed and helpless to do anything with this feeling.

Is there some kind of venom in Goro’s bite? Admittedly, he hadn’t expected Goro would actually bite him, didn’t research vampire bites or powers or anything of the sort. It seemed unfair to research his opponent; he’d rather they win things the old fashioned way, through wits and observations and deductions. Still, as he slumps further and further into Goro’s arms, his body whimpering weakly at every rough thick pass of Goro’s tongue over his bleeding wounds, he begins to wonder if he did, in fact, make a mistake.

His head begins to spin as the blood rushes from his body. Aching minutes pass, Goro still greedily sucking and swallowing like a nursing changeling. How much blood can he even drink? Akira’s life might actually be in danger, here.

Just as black spots speckle his vision, Goro releases him, and Akira jolts awake in his own body, collapsing against the shelves. He gasps, suddenly panting with the realization he had forgotten to breathe while Goro fed. But he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything but stare at the visage of Goro, cheeks flushed a healthy, warm, living pink, eyes ignited from muted garnet to deep crimson, tongue licking up the last few drops of blood off his chin. _Akira’s_ blood. The thought makes him woozy all over again.

Akira has to swallow several times before he finds his voice, defaulting to old formalities for lack of anything clever or cute to say. “Was the meal to your satisfaction?”

Goro presses one hand to his lips, looking almost as dazed, as though trying to chase the flavor with his fingers. “It was…” the pause stings Akira’s heart until Goro smiles widely, flashing pink fangs. “Very satisfying.”

Were any fae to look at him like that, Akira may have grabbed them and pulled them into his private chambers and not let them out for a fortnight. But now his brain is scrambling playing catch-up. He had a motive in mind. A plan. It feels much less important now, with the memory of Goro’s lips and tongue and hands on his body.

When Akira finally steadies himself, he returns to his seat across the counter, nursing his cooled coffee like it can provide him the transfusion he suddenly needs. Goro follows, actually helping him sit down, keeping a hand on his elbow like he’s afraid he’ll pass out. Losing that much blood might have been bad for a human, but Akira is stubborn.

When Akira sets his mug down Goro sweeps it up. “You know, I think I will have a taste of coffee, if the offer still stands” he says with a sly smirk, drinking from Akira’s cup when he gives an approving nod. His lips, he notes, touch the same place Akira’s had.

“What was my mistake?”

Goro’s eyebrows rise, his lips drawing into a wider, more smug smile. “Really, asking such questions? Makes you look weak, you know.”

Akira folds his arms on the counter and rests his head. He’ll survive the blood loss, but he still feels a little too light-headed for comfort. Like he’s had one too many stems of Midsummer herbal wine. “I’m now bereft one vampire stomach’s volume of blood, indulge my weakness.”

Goro could never resist bragging when he thought he’d won. “You gave me permission of your own free will to drink from you. You opened yourself to me. Normally that’s a power I have to… take. I can make the feeding pleasant or not, but it depends how much of someone’s mind I can access. We’re not telepaths or anything of the sort, but like you can trick the eye with glamour, I can trick the body. By letting me in so freely, I could take as much control as I liked. A vampire has power when invited into someone’s home, and especially when invited to use someone’s body.”

“So, those feelings…” The rush of pleasure, the paralysis, the hazy warmth of his life leaving his body, Goro _chose_ to make that feel so good? “You did on purpose?”

Now suitably filled with blood, Goro blushes a warm, beautiful red. “You did offer so kindly, after all.”

The laughter bubbles out of Akira slowly at first, a little chuckle into his folded arms, then builds and builds until he’s thrown his head back, shoulders shaking, the world spins around him and he falls and Goro catches him but he’s still laughing and laughing and laughing.

When he finally gets control of himself enough to look into Goro’s beautiful crimson eyes, he sees concern and _worry._ It nearly sets him off again, but he controls himself. The rules have changed. He places a hand against Goro’s face, finally allowed to touch him like he’s wanted to all night. It only deepens the vampire’s confusion. “I won,” Akira says simply.

Now a scowl chases away any pleasantry in Goro’s features. “How could you have won? I told you, you made a mistake. You lost the moment you invited me to use your body.”

Akira’s fingers map and memorize the ridge of Goro’s browbone, the bridge of his nose, down to the swell of his lips. He presses just a touch and feels the outline of his fangs. “You lost the moment you agreed to my offer,” Akira’s voice is husky and cracked after his outburst. “You partook of faerie food, Goro.” His eyes grow huge as roses in full bloom, and he drops Akira so hard he might as well have thrown him to the floor. Now it’s the fae’s turn to grin so smug. “You’re bound to me now, Goro. Our little yearly meeting is no longer voluntary. You’ll have to come visit me every year, from now on.”

“No,” Goro splutters, looking around frantically, as though looking for an escape in the quiet, dim cafe. “No, that can’t be, it was… it wasn’t food, it was…” Akira sees him replay the encounter. Akira offering the food freely. Clearly identifying it as food. As an offer, he was free to refuse. He could even smell the magic coursing through his veins. Fae magic. Fae _food._

“It won’t be so bad,” Akira encourages him gently, pulling Goro into his arms. Now that his life surges in Goro’s body, his magic, his bond, Akira is free to touch him all he wants. He’s no longer just a guest. Goro is _his_ in any and every way that matters. “You’ve been coming to see me every year for almost a decade. Now I just have a little insurance.” He tiptoes up until his lips can graze Goro’s, still warm and copper-scented. “Next time, drinks are on me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post, I just had to make Akira a sassy faerie and Goro a moody vampire trying to goad the other into cracking first so they can lord it over the other.  
> 


End file.
